


A Phrase Which Here Means Love

by QuidProCrow



Category: Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuidProCrow/pseuds/QuidProCrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lemony has a late Valentine's Day present delivered to Beatrice; Beatrice performs in 'My Silence Knot'; R, the Duchess of Winnipeg, has a few well-intentioned words for our star-crossed lovers; and everyone worries constantly about those involved in the V.F.D.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Phrase Which Here Means Love

No matter how long he'd known her, he still couldn't quite bring himself to give her things in person, particularly in regards to the gift of flora, a word which here means 'a rather sensible-sized bouquet of flowers that had been intended to be given as a gift on Valentine's Day, but certain circumstances had arisen that delayed their presence until the day after.' 

The bouquet consisted entirely of small, dark red roses, ten in number, which was all he could afford on the salary of a dramatic critic for _The Daily Punctilio_. The newspaper was about as likely to pay their writers reasonable salaries as they were to report entirely factual front-page news. He had learned that when he had held the position of obituary spell-checker, and apparently it held true for all of the jobs at the paper. He had scraped together the remains of his salary for the flowers because _she_ was absolutely worth it.

She was _always_ absolutely worth it. 

He had arranged for the flowers to be delivered after the seven o'clock performance of the play, and he was waiting in the hallway by the dressing rooms for her. He'd sat in the front row. She'd dropped the hatpin. He hadn't had to assume the worst. It had been a full house of theater-lovers and careful eyes searching the shadows for fire-starters. All was going considerably well, for once. 

“Lemony, lurking in a hallway is not a very fashionable way to get lovely women to notice you,” a voice behind him said, and he jumped, whirling around, his body immediately tensing in case he had to run out of reflex, a phrase which here means 'this situation had happened quite a few times more than should ever have to happen to anyone and preparing to run away from everything was becoming a regrettable habit,' only to see R standing there. 

“R,” he began, relaxing, “you are, indeed, an incredibly attractive woman, but if you continue sneaking up on unsuspecting people, you may find yourself decidedly less attractive. And, perhaps, lonely.” 

He had known R nearly as long as he'd known her. He enjoyed R's company, as she was incredibly cheerful and witty, although admittedly a little impish. She was her own established presence in the world of theater, but no longer with her, not because of vast artistic differences or anything, but because different cases required different information and different ways of getting it- and then sometimes things didn't work out as they should have. R had been the dramatic critic for _The Daily Punctilio_ before him, and he hadn't seen her since he corrected _that_ obituary a few months previously. She looked a little drawn, the corners of her mouth not carrying the quirk of her smile, but her eyes had the shine they'd always had. He was considerably relieved to see her and to know that she was, indeed, alive (something that wasn't always likely in their business). 

“Why, Lemony, you wound me,” R gasped, frowning as she brought a hand to her chest in fake shock. She then smiled again, small red lips curling in that familiar way. “Any woman would be considerably lucky to have you pining after her, you know.” 

“I thank you for the compliment, R,” he said, leaning back against the wall behind him. 

“While we're on the subject of women,” R said, moving to stand beside him as she carefully worked the long white gloves from her hands, “Beatrice told me she didn't receive anything from you for Valentine's Day. I have to say, my dear wordsmith, that you've left our baticeer quite in shock about that. We were all expecting nothing less than at _least_ a full choir singing her praise.”

Her words stung, and he shifted against the wall. “I was detained,” he explained quietly, picking at a frayed thread on his suit instead of looking at R's inquisitive eyes, “and couldn't partake in the requirements of the holiday. I did, however, make up for it today.”

R looked around him curiously, eyebrow raised, even venturing to examine the pockets of his suit. “Where is it, then?”

“I arranged for flowers to be delivered to her. She should have received them by now.”

At that, R sighed and plucked the thread from his sleeve so that he'd have to look at her. “Lemony, dear,” she said, “you've known Beatrice for years, and yet you act perfectly frightened of her at the prospect of giving her something.” 

“R, I'm not frightened, I'm just-”

“-respecting her personal boundaries, mm-hm, that's what you said the last time, when you had Kit deliver those treats for the bats. Lemony, if you don't make a move on Beatrice- a move that does not involve midnight root beer floats in flickering cafes- someone else will! You _adore_ Beatrice, and I'm quite sure she returns the sentiments exactly, but you can't woo her with carbonated drinks forever, it's perfectly logical that someone else could come along! Then what will you do, mm? And don't tell me 'pine from a distance,' because I will not allow you to do such a thing.” 

He had thought he'd been doing quite a good job with said wooing and carbonated drinks, up until that moment. 

He was silent, turning his gaze away from R again. It was so interesting, he thought, how a conversation could turn from somewhat cheerful to rather serious in a matter of a few lines. But, like a possibly intoxicated cab driver on a mission, conversations had a habit of drastically changing direction at any moment, and this one certainly had.

R made a very good point, like she always did. He certainly had quite an unconventional way of doing things. He saw her often, very often, but he always shuddered at the idea of giving her things in person. For all his command of the language, giving gifts would involve saying things, particular things, things like 'I didn't have to steal it for you this time,' 'I thought this would go well with the curve of your mouth,' 'The world would be incredibly dismal without you in it,' and they were things that got caught in his throat, like an extremely stubborn piece of pretzel. He adored words as much as he adored _her_ , but he couldn't say the simplest ones, so he tried to express feelings with actions instead, flowers and presents and the carbonated drinks.

But there were people, he knew, who could do the whole romance thing much better than he could ever manage (or afford), and R had another good point when she said that someone else could come along and take _her_ right out from under him. _She_ couldn't possibly say yes to a man who only took her out for root beer floats. It was even harder given their respective professions, and how neither of them knew if it would even be possible to meet for root beer floats by the next sunrise. 

They were in dangerous business, and perhaps it would be better if she lived her life without someone who was constantly either getting locked in elevators, locked in offices, or accidentally locking himself out of his apartment. There was no guarantee that he would get out of the locked places- there was no guarantee that she would step on stage each night like she was supposed to, and his heart pounded in his throat before each curtain rose- there was no guarantee that he would see R at performances or that her lips would curl into a smile when she saw him- there was no guarantee that K would still be alive to visit him every third Tuesday of every other month- there was no guarantee that I and J would live happily ever after- there was no guarantee that the same would happen for him. There was no guarantee about anything that was happening, and nothing was safe. 

Perhaps it would be better, would be in her best interests, if they had never met at all. The thought made his fingertips tremble and his face pale, like someone who had received a piece of news they had been expecting and was struck by how unnaturally horrifying it turned out to really be. 

“No,” he said suddenly, “that would be absolutely horrible. That's the last thing I desire.” 

“Lemony,” R said, looking at him with wide eyes, “gosh- I didn't mean to- that is- I'm just worried, is all,” she finished lamely, twisting her gloves between her fingers as she looked away from him. “I think everyone's worried now, for everyone, more than we were before. This isn't an easy business, and we're not doing easy things, and it's hard to try and sustain personal relationships- or even- even familial relationships,” R's voice trailed off slowly, and her voice became a quiet murmur as she continued, “while protecting the world.” 

“And all relationships were never particularly easy to begin with,” he added, and R shook her head slowly. 

“No. Not at all. But Lemony- you'll be careful, won't you? Both you and Beatrice? I'd hate to see something happen to the two of you. Everyone thinks you two are lovely together. And, really,” she said, her smile returning to her face, “any girl would be considerably lucky to be taken out for midnight root beer floats with none other than Lemony Snicket.”

“Are you positive about that?”

“Of course I am!” 

R had never lied to him, and he never expected her to. The shine of her smile reached the corners of her mouth now, and her eyes crinkled in the corners as she looked at him. He was trying to feel as positive as she looked that everything would work out alright in the end, which turned out to be an incredibly difficult task, like trying to catch hatpins thrown off of stages so they didn't plunge into kneecaps. He would certainly try to be careful- he was always trying to be careful, in fact- it was just the situations he kept getting into that made being careful so complicated. He was scared of taking one more wrong step, like he'd done many times in the past with extremely hazardous results. He didn't want anything to happen to _her_ because of some wrong step, some horrible mistake, some misheard word or some faulty newspaper obituary, all of which were equally likely to occur if she was with him. 

Truly, it was quite a quandary he had landed himself in. And that he'd landed her in.

“R,” he began slowly, “do you think I'm doing something wrong?” 

R sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. “No, Lemony. You're being _you_. And we're all incredibly lucky to have someone like you around, you know? You're a good person, Lemony. Don't doubt that. Beatrice doesn't.” 

Many years from that moment, when he would be quite alone with only a typewriter for company, and R would have been missing for quite some time, and she would be a rather lightweight pile of ashes, he would remember those words and doubt them considerably. At the moment, though, there was such a look on R's face that made her words incredibly believable. 

“Thank you, R,” he said, managing a slight smile, and R laughed, a satisfied glint in her eyes. 

“You're welcome, Lemony.”

-

He had left R shortly after, having checked his watch and realized that if he didn't leave at exactly that moment he would be late for an appointment he was rather keen on not missing. He stood by the corner cafe, hands in his pockets, tapping out showtunes on the pavement with his shoes. The watch on his wrist read just after midnight, and the moment he turned his head to look down the street again was the moment someone reached from behind him and plucked the hat right off his head.

He spun around in a rather frenzied manner, a phrase which here means 'quickly and with considerable apprehension, all while entertaining the notion of trying to find the nearest street with a not-so-crowded alleyway that could afford a calculated escape', but he was worried for nothing- she was there, his hat in one hand, the ten roses in the other, a wide smile on her face.

“Thanks for the flowers, Lemony, they're beautiful! You think the cafe will mind if I replace the flowers in the table vase with these?” 

He relaxed more than he had the entire evening, smiling as he looked at her.

“Hello, Beatrice.”

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fanfic on Valentine's Day (obviously!) and then got INCREDIBLY SIDETRACKED due to school work and other things, and only just now got around to reading it through and finishing it properly! I've always been much more intrigued by the characters of the V.F.D than anyone else in A Series of Unfortunate Events, and Lemony and Beatrice and how their relationship worked around the V.F.D, and R, particularly! I wish people wrote R in ASOUE fanfic more!


End file.
